En Route — Amsterdam Centraal to Berlin HBF, Wednesday, October 18th, 2023

Hello, my muses! 👋

It's been two weeks since I flew from Boston to Amsterdam. Amsterdam's charm has slowly worked on me. Its residents create beauty everywhere. Whether it's a creeper growing up on the facade of a red brick apartment or a cozy cafe, every object is carefully placed. The aesthetic is familiar and lived-in — never excess or in your face. Overt displays of wealth upset their protest sensibilities of egality. The aesthetic is less egoistic. Less about the designer and more about the design. The Japanese term hodo-hodo ('just enough design') captures it.

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Wandering Amsterdam's canals, coffee shops, museums, and parks was the perfect way to find my traveling legs. I've found 'em, and now I am a man with a travel plan! (well, sort of)

For the next two months, I have 15 "travel days" where all of Europe's trains are at my whim. Thanks to the well-priced, youth-friendly Eurorail pass,  my future holds lots of last-minute bookings and cancellations, serendipitous conversations with fellow train travelers, wistfully looking out of the window and watching the landscape transform with background thrum of typing, punctuated by occasional crescendoes when inspiration hits (or the caffeine kicks in). Less poetically, airports stress me out. Trains make me happy.

I'll work my way down to Southern Italy, stopping wherever seems alive and for however long feels right. Detours welcome. I'm in no rush.

Not rushing feels delightfully subversive. This is generally true, but even more so when traveling. To my New Yorkers, with their time-is-money sensibilities, strolling down the street is blasphemy. Two and a half months of meandering  — dios mío!

Occasionally, I fall back into the habits of over-planning and over-optimizing. Screw that — I'm satisficing.  As defined by Investopedia "satisficing is a decision-making strategy that aims for a satisfactory or adequate result, rather than the optimal solution. Instead of putting maximum exertion toward attaining the ideal outcome, satisficing focuses on pragmatic effort when confronted with tasks."  Decide and commit consequences be damned! The amount of suffering I've caused myself (and see others causing for themselves) for minimal upside is laughable. This is a trip to nowhere, so it's all about that journey 🤘 (No, I am not writing this on Amsterdam 🌿.)

Sometimes I am too well-behaved a subject of this Achievement Society This kind of society, as modern philosopher Byung Chul Han describes here in an excellent (and short!) excerpt from his book on the Burnout Society, is not characterized by discipline ('No'), but an affirmation of agency ('Yes we Can'). We exhaust ourselves by continually exercising our will. I want to step off the narcissistic "self-improvement" treadmill where unhealthy insecurity subtly taints every act to justify myself to an invisible jury. 

I am not quitting society and giving up on my creative ambition. I want better sources/frameworks/metaphors to act & live other than feelings of insecurity, insufficiency, and anxiety — all too common fuel sources. To get off a treadmill, the first step is to slow it down. But the habit of rushing constantly rears its head. When I feel it closing in as a weighs on my chest, I take a deep breath and ask: For what? For whom? Then, like prayer, I remind myself that I've got all I need on my shoulders, in my pockets, and between my ears. 

Let me catch you up on my travels of the last month. 

Though I've called this trip a "euro-trip," it began when I left Penn Station for Shelburne Falls, Massachusetts, with my big four-month backpack. For ten days, I lived a monastic life in "noble silence" on a strict schedule from 430 a.m. to 9 p.m. There, I learned and practiced the Vipassana meditation technique. Vipassana, which roughly translates to "insight," is traced to the Satipatthana Sutta (Foundations of Mindfulness) — an early Buddhist text.

At this point in the story, I am typically asked with bewilderment, disgust, interest, or some mixture of the three: why? 

An old friend sparked my desire to do Vipassana when he passed through NYC earlier this year. He was raising another round for his company with over 80 employees and didn't have much runway. Over dinner, though, he exuded a calm, focused, in-the-world energy. He was fully invested in the success of this company but not anxiously attached to it. He enjoyed the food in front of him and our conversation unhurriedly. I could feel his presence. He embodied that ideal I've thought about in many readings of the Bhagavad Gita. Of course, after digging, I discovered he is an experienced Vipassana practitioner and reader of the Gita. I pull out my worn-over, marked-up copy from my rucksack during dinner, and we are off to races ...

So when I decided to travel after my time at 37signals, I knew Vipassana would be the perfect start. A chance for a clean slate and much needed to slow down after a hectic year. This was my second ten-day Vipassana. My first first three years ago in Rajasthan. So much has changed since. Most of all, a broadening of things I consent to know. Curiously, I signed up, excited to put ideas of the Gita into practice and re-try temporary monasticism.

Extreme — yes. But, you know me. I'm never one for half-measures. In the wise words of Prof. Shelley:

Vipassana was incredible and intense. Enjoyable isn't the right word. I don't think I can find fitting words to explain the experience. Let's call it ineffable and experiential. So, I will spare you my awkward attempts at using non-dual language and share how Vipassana relates to the questions and thoughts that foreground my travel-musing.

1. Observation:

Observation without reaction is surprisingly tricky. The mind is habituated to, in every moment, categorize, judge, imagine, remember... to react. Reaction is what keeps us alive. According to Buddhist psychology, it's also the source of suffering (duhkha).

Vipassana is a technique where you generate "insight" by watching the sensations in your body. You move your attention from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Over and over again. It's that simple. That's one of the sources of its incredible difficulty. You have little to do except observe. Your mind will wander, and sensations will overpower you, but you are taught to come back, to "start" — over and over again. Wisdom arises. Gradually, you retrain your habit of perception.

Travel is a beautiful practice for observation. Before leaving over a dosa in NYC, Prof. Shelley dropped (another) wisdom bomb on me when we discussed journaling and traveling. To paraphrase:

When I write (and live), I abstract away from the immediate experience. I lose the specificity of the moment where the richness of any conclusion lies — in the story behind the belief — in the person, not their archetype. Observation, which is non-judgmental and un-reactive, is essential to remain specific.

2. Faith

I never thought I'd be writing openly about "faith." That word always irked me until I read Kirkegaard. Then, it just confused me. As I now understand it, faith is non-doubting. It's like the floor under your feet and the roof above your head. Sure, you can obsessively live your life with the fear that the floor beneath your feet could fall through at any moment. But you want to focus on other things. That's OK. Dare I say, better to decide to non-doubt and get on with your life. 

Goenkar, our deceased but virtual omnipresent teacher, always reminded us that the ten days are only an introduction. Meditation and Vipassana's highest aim is free you from all duhkha (suffering), and that requires daily practice.

I've adopted the technique based on faith. To be precise, I am not saying I have faith in Goenkar or even the Buddha. But faith in the epistemology of the technique, in the mindful observation of the body. Whether sitting cross-legged on a meditation mat, swimming in the ocean, running a marathon, or having sex, mindful observation of sensation is where wisdom is there to be realized. 

This isn't an "irrational" decision. A simplistic view puts rationality and faith as opposing and binary. However, in the words of Prof. Lydia Goehr, my wonderful philosophy of literature professor, that would be INSUFFICIENTLY DIALECTICAL! Neither is it entirely a pragmatic one. It's just a decision.

Concretely, this means that I meditate for an hour to two of meditation every day, and I no longer drink alcohol. By making this decision and no longer questioning it, I lay the foundation for knowledge to access other experiences I otherwise couldn't.  Perhaps I call it faith because I need a socially sanctioned term for unquestioned commitment to deep.

During travel, faith is a cornerstone of the experience. Without some quixotic trust that things will be okay and your safety net can kick in when needed, you never risk falling on your face and picking up a few bruises. This is necessary for adventure. 

3. Community

On the last day of the retreat, you break "noble silence." It is an incredibly unique social experience. You finally get to talk to the 100-odd people you've silently observed for the last ten days. Plus, you went through a challenging psychological experience. Phones are still away, too. The conversations are some of the best that I've had.

The range of people is incredible. From folks in divinity school to hardcore triathletes across ages, demographics, and economics, you are all weird enough to quit life for ten days and submit yourself to, as Goenkar put it, "self-inflicted psychological surgery."  I found a tribe of Dharma Brothers there. 

Almost all religions have a social reflective space, whether Christian Sunday mass, Islamic salah, yogic chanting, or meditation centers. Religion understands that we need a shared place for reflection. Vipassana has centers and practitioners across the world. The organization is entirely run on donation, and you can only donate after completing a ten-day. I would love to discuss that one-on-one if you want to participate in one. 
 
Vipassana reminded me that I must bravely do what I feel most pulled to and find a communal element. 

Though I loved that wonderful meditation center and the beautiful New England forest, where I would somehow feel connected to the spirit of Thoreau, I was ready to return to the world. I had lived (and re-lived) many lives on that meditation mat and was bursting with ideas and inspiration.  

Since this wasn't my first rodeo, I knew how intense the experience of re-integrating into talking society can be. I had the forethought to stay with a dear friend in Cambridge who knows how to deal with me — in all my chaos and contradiction — and has this incredible sixth sense about when I need space but also a hug. It was a perfect choice.

On the 1st of October, disheveled but with a massive grin, I lovingly embraced my friend. The weather in Cambridge also embraced me with a glorious early fall sunshine day. 

After ten days of not working out, my body was craving movement. How freeing to be mindfully moving with the sun on my skin (yes, my shirt was off). Right after, I went straight to a coffee shop. I had my journal back with me, and I thought I'd start journaling and the millions of insights I had over the retreat, but all I could write about was the damn cappuccino. My first sip was a religious experience. 

The golden bitter-sweet elixir brought waves of pleasure. In my post-run, caffeinated state, I walked, sun on my skin, loud music, enjoying all the sensual pleasure I'd deprived myself of in the monastery.

After that wonderful and gradual re-integration into society, I went from 0 to 100. After catching up with Patrycja, my host in Amsterdam and dear friend from high school, I attended my first developer conference, Rails World, on October 5th & 6th.

It was my first conference, but even hardened conference go-ers called it spectacular. It was. Here's a video from the conference. The best part was, unsurprisingly, the people. I met so many of my wonderful (former) colleagues from 37signals in real life for the first time!

Overall, it was wonderful to speak with fellow nerds. Nerds who had been much nerdier than I and for much longer. It was an excellent experience. 

Though Rails isn't the newest or sexiest programming framework (it was maybe ten years ago!) I will continue learning and building with it — job opportunities be damned. Because of four reasons:

It's just a framework for talking to a database and showing that in HTML. As my former colleague, Farah, once told me with her wonderfully German accent and sensibility: 

After Rails World, I got hit with a short bout of a low-grade cold. As I gradually found my way back to full physical health, I met old friends for meals, walked around Amsterdam, and worked in cafes  — doing a lot but nothing. It's also where I came up with my travel plans. Patty left for Italy and kindly let me stay in her apartment. I spent much time chatting with her roommate Matteo, a young, brilliant, and wonderfully awkward venture capitalist. We had some great conversations. Moving out of Patty's on the 13th required overcoming some inertia, but the moment I had my bag on my back — I was excited to be on the road. 

(Left to Right: Me in Dam Square, Patty, Matteo)

My next stop was only a 45-minute bus ride in a suburb of Amsterdam. I stayed with family friends, and Parag was running the Amsterdam marathon the next day. 

(Me with Satpute Family 🙌 or the "Fit"pute's as my Dad likes to say. His "dad" humor is legendary.) 

Watching him prepare the day before and supporting him on the day of was a treat! I'm used to being on the other side of that care. I know the nerves and how important that moment is when your eyes lock with any of the thousand runners, and in feeling seen, dig for a little more. Those grimaced nods are a love language, I understand.  It was a joy to see my people — old and young — of all shapes and sizes running a stupidly long, arbitrary distance as if their lives depended on it. It rekindled my love for endurance athletics.

Amsteram Bos & De Braak Park: October 16 - 17th
The highlight of my next few days and my whole time in Amsterdam was discovering the forest on my bicycle. It was vast: sprawling landscapes, ancient (looking) trees, and small streams. The paths were cultivated just enough. It was wild, with just the right amount of human. 

I spent my mornings running and days biking through it. I ended my Amsterdam trip with another in the most beautiful Amstelveen botanical garden I stumbled across. 

I parked my bicycle on an opening by the pond, took out my yoga mat and journal, removed my shoes, and watched the world pass me. For five hours, I watched the ducks dive, trees dance just for me, leaves shimmering impossibly with the wind and sun.  Old Dutch couples walked by, looking quizzically at the barefoot Indian man with AirPods on my makeshift yoga mat picnic blanket. Taking my shoes off somehow removed me from civilized society. I didn't mind.

Plus, it felt so good.  I walked barefoot through the plans to the swamp with my shoes off. Even the undergrowth was soft and squishy. No thorns or hard branches. How Dutch. Though I was slightly disappointed I couldn't get tickets to the Van Gogh museum, I felt like I was Van Gogh for five hours. 

Here are some pictures of the wonderful people I've met and shared a meal with on the road — It's been a joy crossing paths. They've been my travel muses sharing their ideas with me. 

Left to right, Anya, Lucas, Ajay, & mini.dutchie (my first friend backpacking from Capetown in 2018, who I haven't seen since!)

I am on a 🚂 to Berlin, my old summer stomping ground. I look forward to meeting old friends and making new ones. It'll be fun staying in a hostel once again. Berlin is always crazy. 
 

Wheew. You made it. Here's a 🍪 to show how much I appreciate you. 

The next update will come when I am next on a train (whenever this is)! 

With loads of love and levity, 
Arman

PS: I'm soliciting (unsolicited) recommendations  — art, museum, film, culture, music ...  or anything beautiful you've consumed (or created) recently. Here are some of mine: